


Beneath the Tree

by Semjaza



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: 5V4N, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, D/s Vibes, Drinking, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Seduction, VerNero - Freeform, slight blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semjaza/pseuds/Semjaza
Summary: Nero felt Yamato’s yearning for Vergil echo uncannily in his veins. He suppressed the urge to move closer to him. To crawl closer. He took another drink, knowing it wouldn’t help steady him.An alternative start to DMC5.
Relationships: Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114





	Beneath the Tree

**Author's Note:**

> VerNero, but I made it weird. Written for It’s Got to Stay in the Family: A Spardacest Zine (find them on twitter). Title is from Blake’s “A Poison Tree.”

Yamato noticed the man first. She thrummed in Nero’s scaled palm, the force of her longing almost knocking him to his knees. Nero staggered backwards and barely avoided catching an Assault’s claws in his throat. He slashed forward with the blade, splitting open the demon, stepping aside to avoid the mess of guts that spilled out onto the ground. He glanced towards the man, ignored the squeeze of utterly insane yearning that Yamato wrapped around his heart, and continued the slaughter.

The man wasn’t Dante, even if he looked like him. Dante wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut that long, for one. And for two, Yamato didn’t love Dante. She would allow Dante to wield her, deigning to be touched like an overpriced, finicky courtesan. Standing beside Dante, Yamato resting in his arm, Nero had never felt anything other than a vague respect for Dante’s power emanating from the sword. This was different. This man was different. Yamato wanted him to kneel at this man’s feet.

“Are you lost?” he asked, stepping over the last of the dying hellspawn on his way towards the stranger. “The forest is dangerous - you need to get back to town.”

The man met Nero’s gaze steadily. “I’m not lost,” he said. He studied Nero’s face. “Care for a drink? I’d like to speak with you.” His tone of voice, combined with his scrutiny, made Nero wonder if he was being propositioned. Yamato perked up again at that idea, and Nero could feel her humming to this man, wanting him. It made Nero want him too, and he shook his head abruptly to clear it. 

“See any bars around here?” Nero gestured around him, trying to hide his embarrassment. “It’s a bit of a hike back into town. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“My name is Vergil,” the stranger responded, as though that explained everything. He reached into the folds of his coat and retrieved a bottle of wine, red as blood, gleaming darkly like something unearthly, unholy. Nero wanted it, as completely as Yamato wanted Vergil. He felt his mouth fill with saliva and swallowed thickly. Vergil watched his throat move.

“Let’s sit down,” Vergil said, walking further into the forest as though he didn’t care how many demons infested its pathways. Nero followed after him like a dog on a leash, telling himself it was because he couldn’t let tourists get murdered in Fortuna, no matter how stupid they were. Vergil ducked under a branch and led him into an unfamiliar grove of trees. The trunks and branches were blackened with soot, snarled and twisted into ominous spirals. Their leaves gleamed golden in the afternoon sun, softening the light. Vergil settled himself on a fallen tree branch as though it was a throne.

“The forest changed a lot when the hell gates were open, but I don’t remember this place. And I’ve hunted here in Mitis for years.” Nero dragged his attention away from the mangled trees and back to the stranger. He sat at Vergil’s feet, kneeling with his legs tucked underneath him before he realized what he’d done. Vergil looked pleased, as though Nero had just offered him something. Yamato conveyed the devil-arm equivalent of a dreamy sigh.

“You look like Dante,” Nero blurted, in an attempt to regain some control over the situation.

“Yes.”

“So, you’re related then?” Nero expected deflection, or some sort of mind-game, but Vergil answered him as bluntly as Dante would have.

“Twins,” Vergil agreed, and yes, Nero could see that. Twins that grew up and grew apart and honed their minds and bodies in different ways. He stared at Vergil for a long moment, his hands curling into fists. Vergil shrugged off his coat and set it aside, revealing a tidy black shirt. He stretched like a lioness getting ready to run down a gazelle. Nero wanted to climb into his lap.

Vergil opened the bottle of wine, and the perfume of it surrounded them. It smelt better than blood, better than anything really. The scent was so intoxicating it was almost dangerous, bound to summon every demon in the forest with the slightest hint of a breeze. Nero dragged his gaze away from the bottle and discovered that Vergil was watching him, again, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“This is made from the fruit of a tree that only grows in the depths of hell.”

“Not ordinary wine, then?”

“No.”

Nero felt almost drowsy from the scent of the wine. He swayed, just a bit, looking up at Vergil, admiring his silhouette against the sunlit trees. Vergil produced two immaculate wine glasses, either from his coat or out of thin air. He poured half a glass for Nero and handed it over before pouring his own. He didn’t say cheers or offer to touch glasses in a toast, so Nero just muttered thanks and took a wary sip. The wine tasted like blood and smoke and burned all the way down his throat. Slick and jelly-like, it coated his mouth, almost slippery. He drained his glass in an instant and wanted more, a sick craving that matched the way Yamato felt about Vergil, or how he felt after his first kill of the day. Or even, most unsettling, how he was beginning to feel about Vergil, this stranger with a familiar face, who watched him with glittering eyes.

“So, did Dante send you here or something?” Nero asked, his belly warmed with the wine, pleasurable languor spreading through his limbs.

Vergil’s lips twitched, as though he’d just suppressed a laugh. “No, he did not.”

“Why are you here then? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re closed for renovations.” Nero gestured in the direction of Fortuna proper.

Vergil flicked a glance at the trees around him, then looked in the direction of the town. “I’ve come to collect what’s mine.”

“Yamato,” Nero guessed, and then barely kept from slapping a hand over his mouth. He glared at the glass in his hand, appalled at himself.

“Yes, for one,” Vergil agreed.

“Gonna fight me for her?”

“I wasn’t planning to, no.”

“I won’t just hand her over,” Nero said, as though he couldn’t feel Yamato quivering with desire inside of him. He could taste the folded steel of the katana in his throat.

Vergil shrugged. “She knows her master.”

Nero felt Yamato’s yearning for Vergil echo uncannily in his veins. He suppressed the urge to move closer to him. To crawl closer. He took another drink, knowing it wouldn’t help steady him.

“If Yamato is ‘one,’ then what else is yours?”

“You, of course.”

Nero blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re mine,” Vergil clarified, as though nothing could be more natural and right.

“The hell I am. I don’t even know you. The only reason we’re having this conversation is because you look like Dante.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow. “You’re my own flesh and blood. You couldn’t have healed Yamato otherwise. And I doubt any bastard of Dante’s would have ended up here.”

Nero took a moment to turn that idea around in his head. “That’s such a load of bullshit. You’re not my father. And even if you were, I don’t belong to you, like I’m property or-”

“Chattel?” Vergil interrupted smoothly. “If you’re not convinced, I could always make you mine.” He swirled his wine gently in its glass and took another sip, and Nero wanted him with every fibre of his being.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” he snarled.

“Of course not,” Vergil said. He offered the bottle, and Nero noticed his glass was empty again.

“I don’t want any more,” he lied, desiring both the wine and Vergil, _his father, maybe_ , and hating himself for it. Vergil looked at him, and Nero held out his glass. He watched Vergil fill it up, wishing that maybe Vergil would fill him up, and tried to shove those thoughts out of his brain.

“You’re trying to get me drunk,” he accused, and ruined the effect by taking a drink.

Vergil didn’t even deign to look scandalized. “I wouldn’t waste this wine on that.” He glanced at Nero, staring so intently that Nero wondered whether he was being undressed by Vergil’s eyes, or flayed. “And I don’t think I’d need it anyway, Nero.”

“I didn’t tell you my name,” Nero retorted to hide the fact that Vergil was right. He was half-hard in his jeans, kneeling beside Vergil’s boot-clad feet and barely able to stop himself from pressing his face to the leather.

“It wasn’t difficult to find out.”

“You’d better stay away from my family,” he warned.

“I am your family.”

Nero snorted, hoping it conveyed his contempt. “Fuck off.”

Vergil sipped his wine and ignored him, and Nero drank his wine and quietly seethed. He thought about getting up and leaving, or better yet, getting up and kicking the shit out of Vergil and then leaving, but he couldn’t quite convince himself to stand. Yamato purred, pleased to be at Vergil’s feet. The wine warmed Nero’s belly and seeped into his veins. A slight breeze touched his flushed face, and he shivered reflexively.

“What’s the wine for, then, if it’s not to seduce me?” he asked, knowing with terrible clarity that he’d already been seduced, and too easily, at that.

“Simply a gift, Nero. One I thought I’d share.”

“Before you what? Rip Yamato out of me?”

“I don’t think it will come to that.” Vergil reached out and dragged a finger along Nero’s jaw, lifting his chin. His thumb brushed gently over Nero’s lips before pushing inside and touching his tongue. Nero allowed it, and swallowed, and flushed scarlet when Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why I’m acting like this,” he muttered.

“Of course not. There aren’t many human-demon hybrids in existence, and I’m sure Dante left before he had to explain anything to you.”

“As soon as the job was done.” Nero said it like it hadn’t hurt him, at all.

“And left you here, all alone.”

“I’m not alone here.” Nero held Vergil’s gaze evenly when he wanted to stare at the ground. “And speaking of leaving, if you’re really my father, where have you been?”

Vergil smiled, cold as ice. “Settling accounts in Hell.”

“And now you’re all ready to play daddy. That’s great, except you’re about twenty years too late, so-”

Vergil’s thumb slid back to his mouth, and Nero wanted to bite him but didn’t quite dare. Vergil explored his teeth, pushing his upper lip out of the way. He found the sharp edges of a cuspid and pressed down hard, puncturing his own skin and dragging it open. Blood filled Nero’s mouth, hot and coppery, far more intoxicating than even the hell-fruit wine had been. Vergil let him suck at the wound for the brief moment before it healed, then pulled his hand away. He finished his wine, watching Nero, who licked his lips and kept his hands off his cock through sheer force of will.

“Okay,” he said finally, looking up at Vergil. “That’s fucked.”

“What is? That you know nothing at all about being part-devil?”

“Whose fault is that?” Nero accused, realizing as he said it that he’d as good as told Vergil that he believed him.

“I’ll admit that it’s mine,” Vergil said, conceding nothing else. He stretched out one booted foot and nudged it between Nero’s thighs, and it was all Nero could do to not roll his hips down onto it. He resisted for nearly a minute, glaring at Vergil, who looked back calmly. Vergil set his glass aside, and Nero gave in and shuffled forward until his clothed erection pressed against his father’s boot.

“I’m not yours,” he said, and almost believed it himself. “You can’t have me,” he added, his defiance undermined by the way his hips jerked once, involuntarily, against Vergil.

“You _are_ mine, and I’ll have you any way I like.”

Nero flushed red, his cock throbbing in his pants. He glared at Vergil, chin tilted up petulantly, and saw Vergil’s mild expression undermined by the flicker of red in his eyes. Vergil reached for his coat, made of a fabric that seemed to catch and absorb the light around him, and with a flick of his wrist, spread it out beneath the nearest tree.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” Vergil answered, infuriatingly, and Nero felt the wine like fire, coursing through his veins. Inside him, Yamato coiled like a serpent, all deadly anticipation. He held Vergil’s gaze and nodded once.

The world skewed sideways for a moment, a whirl of colour, and Nero found himself on his back, sprawled on Vergil’s coat, staring up at tree branches silhouetted against the sky. And then Vergil was on him, kissing Nero like he wanted to devour him. Nero fisted his hands into Vergil’s hair and spread his legs to hook them around Vergil’s waist. He wanted, more than anything, to entwine himself with this man. Vergil’s tongue slid into his mouth, tasting like blood and wine, pouring power into him that Nero drank down hungrily.

He realized, swiftly, that this was meant to be an exchange: that for everything Vergil offered, he expected an equal recompense. Power flowed between them, arching and spiking. Vergil deftly unbuttoned Nero’s clothes, baring his heated flesh to the forest’s cool air. Nero shivered under his father, tried to flip them over and couldn’t quite manage it. Vergil continued stripping him, kissing him hungrily, pinning Nero in place.

He was naked before he knew it, boots and all tossed aside, his arms locked around Vergil’s neck. Nero moaned when Vergil started to stroke him, embarrassingly close to the edge from a few hard kisses and a skillful touch. He could taste Yamato again, dark unholy power reaching up for Vergil, blood in his throat like the blade had cut it. Above him, Vergil sighed and kissed him deeper. He poured some of the wine onto his hand and reached under Nero, and Nero arched up at the touch, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Please,” he heard himself say, dizzy with power and lust, trembling with need. Vergil laughed softly, pressing wine-slicked fingers into Nero until he moaned. “Please,” he said again, and this time heard Vergil open his own clothes.

Vergil kissed his throat, strong hands sliding down Nero’s sides. Nero arched into the touch, power sparking through him. He spread himself open under Vergil without prompting, basking in his father’s approval. The first thrust left him gasping against Vergil’s mouth, and then it was all he could do to hang on. Nero shook and keened and dragged talons down Vergil’s back. He sobbed for breath until he was afraid Yamato would slide out of his mouth and into Vergil’s. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this good, so open and sensitive to the flow of power. Vergil fucked him until he screamed himself senseless, and then held him down and fucked him harder.

Nero could taste blood in his mouth again, his breath coming ragged. Vergil took a hand off his hip to interlace his fingers with Nero’s devil bringer, pinning the demonic limb to the ground with his weight.

“Come on, then,” Vergil said, and Nero wasn’t sure whether he spoke to him, or Yamato, but then it didn’t matter because his orgasm slammed into him like an avalanche. He knew he triggered as his vision sparked white, his body clenching around Vergil and dragging him over the edge as well. He had just enough presence of mind to keep his hand tight around Yamato, hanging onto the sword as his back arched and the sky above him splintered into shards of red and black and white. 

Nero didn’t know how much time had passed when he came back to himself. Vergil was still inside him, getting hard again without pulling out. Nero felt his own cock twitch in response.

“You’re beautiful when you trigger,” Vergil said. He glanced at Yamato, still clutched in Nero’s hand. Nero pulled the sword back into himself, a defensive reflex. He moved to slide himself off Vergil’s cock and met the challenge in Vergil’s gaze. Vergil smiled like it was a threat. “I’ll get her out of you yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they had a sexy fight to the death. The end. Please let me know if you liked this. I’m semjaza_xx on twitter if you want to say hi!


End file.
